His hands were so much larger than my own, one of his easily enveloping both of mine like it was nothing. Lifting his other hand, he surprised me when he signed, “I’m Max,” while speaking the words.
My heart stopped when I realized he could sign. No one outside of school had ever signed with me in the eight years I’d been deaf. My tears fell faster, and I held my breath as he released my hands so he could use both of his own to sign again. “I won’t hurt you, little one. Don’t be scared.”
Blinking back the moisture from my eyes, I gave a nod. For some reason, I believed him when he said he wouldn’t hurt me. Maybe I shouldn’t, because he was a stranger, but he was the first person I’d been able to communicate with in months.
Max reached out and stroked his thumb over my cheek, wiping away one of the tears that had spilled over my lashes. Turning his hand over, he looked down at it with a frown, and my face filled with embarrassed heat. I was filthy, and he was probably disgusted from the mere sight of me.
“What’s your name?” he signed.
I could have lied, but I wanted him to know my name. “Delaney.”
“What are you doing out here all by yourself?” he demanded, his hands moving quickly, while his mouth twisted in anger again. “You could have gotten yourself killed walking out into the road in this fog.”
I lowered my lashes, not answering. I didn’t want to tell him I’d been on my way to Aggie’s to find something to eat in the restaurant’s dumpsters.
He lifted my chin with his forefinger, making me look at him again, his face softening. “It’s okay, little one,” he signed, his lips moving slowly. “Let me get you home.”
Frantically, I shook my head, quickly signing that I couldn’t go home. To please, please not make me go home.
“Okay.” His arms went around me, pulling me against him. He held me for a few moments, and some of my fear of having to face Uncle Tony eased. But all too soon, he was stepping back. “I won’t make you go home, but you can’t stay out here. Come with me.”
He held out his hand, and I didn’t even hesitate to place mine in his. His hold was firm yet gentle as we walked back to his motorcycle. When we reached it, he seemed reluctant to release me, but after a brief hesitation, he let go. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he turned on the flashlight so he could examine the damage caused by the crash.
Once he was satisfied it was drivable, he got on and started it up, then offered me the helmet he’d been wearing earlier. I took it, but my fingers fumbled with the clasp. Pushing my hands aside, he fastened it himself before helping me onto the back of the bike.
Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my face into his back. I felt his chest vibrate and loosened my hold, worried I’d caused him more pain. He hadn’t limped any on the walk back to his motorcycle, but that didn’t mean other places hadn’t been harmed during the wreck.
His hands wrapped around my wrists, pulling my arms tighter around his middle once more. I felt his thumb caress over the backs of my hands, and then he squeezed them, as if telling me to hold on tight.
I’d never been on the back of a motorcycle before. It was kind of exciting and a little scary, but oddly, I felt safe with Max in control of the beast-like machine beneath us.
When he pulled into the parking lot of the local mechanic, I was a little sad that the trip was over so quickly. The vibrations of the bike stopped, and then he was offering me his hand to assist me off.
“I have an apartment above the shop,” he signed, and I turned to look back at the garage.
The place was huge, with multiple closed garage bays. The storefront was dark, but the place was well cared for. There were no lights on above the shop, no way of telling me how big the apartment might be.
With his hand at the small of my back, Max guided me around to the side of the garage and up the flight of stairs to the second floor. After unlocking the door, he reached in to flip on a light and then urged me forward. Cautiously, I stepped over the threshold, my eyes taking in everything all at once.
A leather couch was against one wall, a simple coffee table between it and the large TV stand that held a giant television set. Pictures decorated the walls, and I spent a moment examining them as I took a few more steps into the apartment.
Some were of Max with a girl who was drop-dead gorgeous. At a glance, I knew she must be his sister, with their matching metallic-blue eyes, dark hair, and impish grins. There were two of Max holding an adorable little boy, and for a moment, I thought maybe it was his son. Until I saw a picture of the girl holding the baby lovingly while a man covered in tattoos tucked them both against him. The pure love and adoration that glazed the inked man’s eyes told me this was his family.
Others caught my attention. There were more pictures of Max with an older blond woman than there were with the girl I was assuming was his sister. In all of them, Max had his arm around the blond woman, and that impish grin was even more pronounced.
Max touched my arm, pulling my gaze to
